


Birdhouse In Your Soul

by solaciolum



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, Gen, They Might Be Giants - Freeform, giving desmond hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solaciolum/pseuds/solaciolum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca tries to help Desmond sleep, with a little help from TMBG. Written in response to the prompt "Argonaut," because I make weird free association leaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birdhouse In Your Soul

Desmond was starting to dread lights-out. It wasn’t just that his sleeping bag was cold and uncomfortable, or that the ominous hum of the computers and the animus sometimes kept him awake despite his exhaustion; it wasn’t even Shaun’s snoring, although Desmond still couldn’t figure out how Shaun managed to sound condescending even in his sleep.

When the lights were on, he could see that he was _here_ and _now_ in the present, and it was easier to remember that the ghosts that walked through Monteriggioni were just that- ghosts, fragments of memory left behind by the animus. When the lights were on, Desmond could remember who he was.

Every night, it was more and more difficult to tell when he was dreaming and when he was awake; there were ghosts in his vision whether his eyes were open or closed, and the distant hum of the computers or Shaun’s snoring wasn’t enough to bring him back to reality. The cold, implacable stares of statues ringing the Sanctuary offered neither solace nor any sort of clue as to when and who he was at any given moment. The ancient stone was a worn in the present as it had been in Ezio's time.

It became routine, almost: waking up with his own screams echoing in his ears, followed by endless empty moments of struggling to remember himself. Until one night, instead of opening his eyes mid-scream to more darkness and ghosts, he saw a cheerful blue and yellow light hovering over his sleeping bag. The incongruously bright and cheerful face of a cartoony blue plastic bird shocked Desmond back into his own head. Someone had dragged an extension cord over to his little alcove and duct taped a nightlight to Altair’s pedestal.

It was pieced together out of a plastic toy shaped like a bright bird in a birdcage, singing, and a homemade lightbulb and socket set up. Desmond carefully freed it from the duct tape holding it to the statue to hold on to it; he eventually fell asleep like that, leaning against the statue with the nightlight cupped in his hands. He didn’t wake up again until Lucy nudged him awake and left a cup of coffee on his desk.

“Sleep okay, Desmond?” Rebecca was always far, far too perky for anyone to deal with after waking up, which was why Lucy and Shaun were hunched over their desks with their coffee and tea, trying to stay as far away from her aura of cheerfulness as possible until they’d been properly caffeinated.

“I did, actually.” Desmond put too much sugar in his coffee these days; he didn’t know if it was Altair’s fault or Ezio’s, but the part of his tongue that was still his was getting a little tired of its syrupy sweetness. He glanced back at his desk, where the unplugged nightlight sat to preserve the lightbulb. “Was that little guy your idea?”

Rebecca lit up light a nightlight herself. “Yeah! Did he help? I saw the bird when I went out for supplies and couldn’t help myself. Like in the song, you know?”

“The what?”

She stared at him. “They Might Be Giants? _Flood_? Birdhouse in your soul? Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch? Who watches over you?” At his continuing blank look, she tried again, desperately, “Killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts?”

He almost snorted his coffee out his nose in aborted laughter. She shook her head and dove for the messenger bag under her desk, pulling out her mp3 player. She fiddled with it until it came up with the playlist she was looking for. “Okay, that’s it. Your homework for today, Desmond, is to listen to TMBG until you are less hoplessly clueless about important cultural icons.” She handed him the mp3 player and a pair of headphones with a wink. “Better get started, there _will_ be a test, and I’m gonna have Baby booted up in about an hour.”

He caught himself humming snatches of songs when they let him out of the animus during breaks; Lucy and Shaun looked at him strangely, but Rebecca just grinned and tapped out a beat against the edge of her desk. And when it was finally time for lights-out, Desmond closed his eyes under the watchful eye of the blue canary, and for once, he didn’t dream.


End file.
